One More Bite
by Aries Draco
Summary: from the kink meme. Russia with an eating disorder.


One more bite

"It is not a bad thing to learn some limits."

Russia merely smiled, sipping obediently at the oolong tea. If he opened his mouth, he might throw up, so he kept silent, even when China scowled at him and threw up his hands in exasperation.

"Sometimes, I can't see the difference between you and America at all."

"I'm... not..." protested Russia, taking another hard sip of tea to keep all the food down.

"No, at least America has the good sense to throw it up when it makes _him_ sick," snapped China.

Russia wanted to argue that it wasn't good sense, that it was just some capitalist illness, but he forced himself to drink more tea, closing his eyes and trying to quell the twisting in his stomach that wasn't entirely due to the eating. He wasn't going to allow himself to throw up, because that would be a complete waste of the food. China... he heard China sigh, felt lips brushing across his forehead, and he knew that China was just angry, that he hadn't meant to compare him to America, that he did understand, even if he wasn't happy about it.

It was at times like this when he thought that he really might love China.

"I won't do it again," he promised, smiling as emptily as his promise rang. But China would never call him on it. Whether it was because China truly believed that he could change, or just because China didn't really care, he didn't like to speculate. All that was important was that China _understood_.

Belarus never made the effort to understand, declaring her undying love regardless of his actions. Ukraine chanted to herself at nights that he was a growing boy and cried when she had to starve on his behalf. His ex-Soviet bloc thought that it was about power, because he always had to take the lion's share, but it wasn't, not really, because even lions stopped when they'd had enough.

When it started, it had been important, because he never knew where his next meal was coming from, or if someone would take it away. He ate without discrimination, without tasting, because nothing mattered more than simply not starving. And even when food was plentiful, he had to prepare for when it was not. Always, he would aim for one more, just one mouthful more, fighting the nausea, ignoring the bloated feeling, because maybe that was the one mouthful that would tide him through the winter. He wasn't sure when it became a habit, but he called it prudence and put it out of his mind.

The explanation he offered to the other countries was that he couldn't get their food at home, so he took every opportunity to eat as much as he could. Lately, the excuse didn't hold water anymore, considering the number of restaurants springing up, and he found himself visiting China more and more.

China, who greeted people with, 'Have you eaten?', because food was so important, because not-starving was so important for a country who still remembered famines. China, for all his steel and smoke, was still something of a farmer's boy at heart, and it showed when they shared meals, because they would both be eating furiously to finish everything on the table, even when the portions were double what a normal man would eat. But China at least knew his limits, producing plastic bags and boxes to make takeaways while Russia could not.

He would see the food in bites, and six was only one more than five, and five was only one more than four, and if he took a bigger mouthful, half of four was two, and two was not more than one and his plate would be clear and he would be so full that he couldn't breathe. He told himself it felt good, because he was _full_ and there was no way he could starve like this, but there were times when he wished he could get up the courage to do like America and purge, though he never entertained such blasphemous thoughts for long.

People were starving out there: how could he waste food like that?

China understood, never jibing him about the way he wolfed down his meals, about how he consistently and constantly ate everything that was presented to him. China stood beside him, giving him tea and stroking his swollen belly whenever he really overdid things, scolding him but taking care of him nonetheless. If China was ever angry, it wasn't about this habit of his, the one that compelled him to eat everything on his plate, everything that was to be thrown out, and everything so that nothing would go to waste. It was about the other one, the one where he kept hurting himself in a myriad of ways because he didn't or couldn't understand the concept of limits.

"Are you feeling better now?" demanded China sternly, though his touch was gentle across Russia's sweat damp forehead. "You should get up and walk."

Russia pulled himself to his feet, taking a moment to ensure that the food was still stably settled in his stomach. Standing helped, and walking would too. "Outside, I saw someone selling those red candy things. Can I have one please?"

China frowned at him briefly, then shrugged. "It's only candy anyway, and you can't get them back in Russia, right?"

It was sweet, and sometimes, he really thought that he loved China. But if China ever loved him, these indulgences would have been restricted a long time ago. Then again, if that ever happened, maybe he wouldn't love China so much anymore? Russia smiled softly to himself, twining his fingers with China's. Yea. Probably.

Notes:

Oolong tea is said to be good for burning fats.

The capitalist illness refers to bulimia, though I'm sure it's not really restricted to capitalist countries. Eating disorders can affect anyone.

The candies they're talking about in the end are 冰糖葫芦, which I believe are candied haws, but I really don't know, because, though I always associated them with China, I kinda hate their taste. They look quite distinct, though.


End file.
